THE RATHORES LEGACY || 18+

➥PART 1

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|THIRD PERSON

In the stillness of the night, a convoy of trucks moved silently through the desolate roads around Bhanpur village, close to the Ramnagar Block (near Ayodhya). The trucks, draped in massive black tarps, concealed their illegal cargo, blending into the darkness like shadows. Leading the group, Raju, the one in charge, sat back comfortably in the front truck, a smug smile on his face.

"What a tiring day! If they'd caught us tonight, we'd be heading straight to our end," Raju said, amused at the thought. His men, gathered around him, forced a laugh, though uneasiness flickered in their eyes.

"Bhai, something feels wrong," one of them muttered, nervously shifting in his seat. "This is the first time we're moving goods without a buyer or someone keeping an eye on us."

Raju brushed off the concern with a laugh, hiding his own rising worry. "Relax, idiot. No one showing up just means we got lucky," he said, trying to sound confident. But deep down, a sense of dread gnawed at him. He couldn't afford to appear weak, especially when his men relied on him for their livelihoods, from school fees to running their homes.

Suddenly, the truck jolted to a stop, the screeching of brakes cutting through the stillness of the night, forcing the other trucks to halt as well. The driver slid open the partition between the cabin and the back. "Bhai, there's a car blocking the road."

Raju's face darkened with irritation. "Ab kya musibat hai?" He grumbled, getting up. Grabbing his knife from beside him, he motioned for his men to follow as he stepped out of the truck.

(What now?)

The cool night air hit them as they exited, but the bright headlights of the car ahead blinded their vision. Shielding his eyes with his hand, Raju's irritation grew. "Who's blocking the road now? Move your damn car!" he shouted, his patience quickly wearing thin.

There was no response.

Frustrated, Raju tightened his grip on the knife and marched forward, determined to clear the obstruction. But just as he neared the car, the headlights went out, plunging everything into darkness. He froze mid-step, his breath catching in his throat. His men, seeing a figure illuminated by the moonlight, scattered in terror.

"Oh, did I upset you, Raju?" a voice called out from the shadows, dripping with cold amusement. A tall, sharp-featured man, likely in his late twenties, stepped into the faint light. Three younger men followed him, chuckling, though the one who had spoken remained stern, his demeanour too intense for such trivialities.

"R-Raja Ji," Raju stammered, his knees giving way as he dropped to the ground. The knife slipped from his hand, clattering onto the asphalt. His heart raced in panic as he realised who stood before him - the notorious Rathore brothers: Abhiyansh, Rajveer, Shivansh, and Samrat Singh Rathore.

[A/N– 'Raja Ji' is used to call KING in India.]

Abhiyansh, the eldest, stood by the car, casually holding a cigarette between two fingers, his presence commanding in a black suit. His left hand rested in his pocket, the glow of the cigarette ember the only warmth in his cold, imposing stance. Rajveer, a few steps away, stared at Raju with a fiery gaze, his eyes filled with danger. Behind them, Shivansh and Samrat lounged on the car's hood, sipping soda with a wicked gleam in their eyes, their smiles sinister.